Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
What happens when the laws of propriety no longer matter? When you’re free, not from your primary responsibilities, but free from the normal bounds of society?
In one word… “Shameless.”
As you know, after a half dozen trysts with strangers from the “Friend Finder” (FF) site and hook ups at both “Options” and “Eden Redux” there wasn’t much that Elle wouldn’t do within the realm of sexual promiscuity.
But every once in a while…
She’d been on me for some time to do something other than the above mentioned activities. While she knew nothing about FF, the planning that led to most of those trysts were what passed for normal activity for she and I.
So I had to come up with something.
When my wife announced that she was going to spend a week in Florida with her sister, at the end of August no less, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.
As luck would have it, I was talking to a buddy and he was going to be spending that weekend with a friend, who happened to be the third base coach for the Chicago White Sox… the team staying in New York to play a weekend series with the Yankees. With my friend having the coach’s itinerary it was just a matter of setting it up so that… if someone called the coach’s hotel room looking for me, he would let my buddy handle it.
I wouldn’t be expecting a call from anyone.
I then booked a room for the weekend in SoHo, a small boutique hotel, “Blue Moon,” on Orchard Street, very avant-garde, along with train tickets.
With less than a week to set it up… I suggested that Elle tell her husband she’d been invited to spend another weekend in Provincetown with Vic and Kathy, this time as a guest of their friend Leon.
Vic handled that, his call to Todd even offering, “Man… so sorry you missed that last weekend, we had a great time. You gotta come down this weekend!”
Todd didn’t even bother with a hateful diatribe this time, just telling Elle he wished she’d spend less time them.
She ignored him.
Ours was a very eventful trip.
I picked Elle up early Friday morning and we caught the train in Providence, her first ride on the rails since she was a little girl. We got
on the “Quiet” car, neither of us needing to do any business, or use our phones on the way down, and she chose facing seats in the front of the car, but sat next to me in the window seat. Other than the fact that she was “over dressed,” in the sense that she was wearing a very nice blouse, coordinating mini skirt and high heel shoes, we were pretty much anonymous on the train.
Now… I say, “over dressed,” because no one else in the car was wearing anything other than jeans or something even more casual. In that regard she was “over dressed.” By any other standard, “over dressed,” would have been a misnomer, because in that regard… she was only wearing a very nice blouse, coordinating mini skirt and high heel shoes.
She wasn’t wearing anything else.
The blouse wasn’t completely see through, but it did have a button front and while it was only slightly opaque, the lack of translucence was more than made up for by the clinginess of the material.
Even though you couldn’t actually see her breasts, only the dark outlines of her nipples, there was no doubt you could see more than enough to satisfy even the most demanding voyeur.
The skirt was about two inches longer than most of those she wore, demure by her standards.
The ride to the first stop, Kingston/Exeter, was uneventful, Elle seeing Rhode Island from an entirely different perspective. It was really quite scenic.
At the next station, Westerly, only a few people boarded, one climbing into the quiet car with us. The woman wasn’t so much a “bag lady,” as someone whose clothing was very wrinkled and seriously out of date.
And she didn’t look happy!
She plunked herself down directly across from Elle, and seemed to be studying her, not looking at the passing scenery, just looking at her.
True to her nature, Elle didn’t seem to be upset by the attention, finally nodding and then smiling at the woman.
That won her a smile in return and then…, “I like your kitty.”
Since neither of us was holding anything resembling a cat, it was obvious that the woman was either delusional, or referring to Elle’s perfectly shaved pussy!
Both of us knew it was the latter, as she’d thrown her right leg over my left leg, her vagina fully displayed.
And this time, she hadn’t done it purposely to titillate. It was just a little something that she would do, a reflexive intimacy that meant nothing to anyone but her.
But meaning, “… nothing to anyone but her,” is a vague concept, given the exhibitionist nature of the act!
“Thank you,” she responded, with another smile.
She never moved or otherwise attempted to cover herself.
Since she hadn’t been treated with a negative or hostile reply to her observation, the woman followed it up with… “Why do you shave it?”
Elle merely pointed at me.
“What about your husband? ataşehir escort bayan Does he like it?” the woman asked innocently.
“He is my…” she tried to answer, only to be cut off.
“No… you’re far too obsessed with him. The two of you are lovers and you’re off to New York for a lover’s weekend.”
Elle looked at me and then we both laughed, “Guilty as charged,” I answered.
She lady smiled at Elle again and then patted the seat next to her.
“So no one will listen,” she whispered.
Elle moved over next to her.
For the next ninety minutes we were treated to a story from the lives of the rich and famous. Clair was charming, intelligent and a downright ball buster when talking about her family.
She was the youngest daughter of a prominent Rhode Island family, a family that boasted two former governors, two congressmen and a US Senator.
“My nitwit nephews are being groomed now,” she confided, “I call us, “The Kmart Kennedy’s.”
That drew a laugh and then Elle asked, “Do you have children?”
“Three,” she answered, “two daughters, one of whom I just left and the other I’m on my way to visit and a son who’s gay and living very happily in San Francisco. That’s how I knew you two weren’t married. I’ve watched both of my daughters lose husbands because of infidelity, their own and their husbands. I was married for 48 years to a very good man and if Tom ever cheated on me… he died with his secret. I choose to believe he was faithful.”
She’d moved to Philadelphia, his family home, “… to get out of the stupidity that is Rhode Island.” She visited her daughters a couple of times a year, “Subjecting myself to their stupidity too,” she observed, adding, “I must be a masochist.”
Leaning over, she whispered, “That’s why I dress like this… just to piss off my daughters, the idiots they call husbands and the little rug rats they call their children. I’d disown them all if I wasn’t worried about them suing Tommy, my son, into his grave!”
She asked about us, how we came to be on the train, where we were staying and then offered a couple of restaurant recommendations, “If you like a romantic setting.”
I promised I’d try to make a reservation at one of them.
As we were approaching the Westport, Connecticut station, she got up, gave us both kisses, told us to have a great weekend in the city and then said, “Look out the window when we stop. I always sit in the front of the quiet car so that’s where my daughter, son-in-law and grandkids will be waiting. They’ll be the ones overdressed and he’ll be holding a bouquet of flowers.
She waved to us as we looked out at her. And, as predicted, the “Adams Family” was there with her, dressed for an Inaugural Ball, her daughter looking appalled at the way Clair was dressed.
Wikipedia proved that she was who she said she was and that her daughters were both working on husbands number three!
Just as the train was about to leave, a tall Latino guy jumped aboard, looking agitated.
What was it about this train?
I didn’t think, however, that he’d have two thrice married daughters and a gay son!
He settled into the seat one row opposite and behind me, with a perfect view of Elle who’d sat back down where she’d been sitting with Clair.
She watched him for a moment, eyes squinting and then looked at me.
“He looks mean!” she mouthed.
I later found out that she also thought he was of Middle Eastern descent!
No one got on or off our car for the next four stops, Elle turning a few times to look at the guy, her facial expressions finally raising my curiosity to the point that I turned and looked at him. I only got a profile, but it was enough, along with his general demeanor, to form the opinion that he was Nicaraguan, mid-30’s, working for someone in Westport, who’d probably given him a hard time, maybe short changed him in his paycheck?
Then again, maybe he was an Arab, born with a piss poor disposition.
Whatever it was, he must have had a change in attitude, because over the next ten minutes, her glances at him were showing more interest than curiosity.
How did I know that?
Well, first she unbuttoned two more buttons on her blouse, now only the very bottom button holding any of it together. Then, she turned and slid into the corner of the seat, now facing him directly and began to fold and unfold her legs, each time exposing her crotch to him.
I was getting excited.
Then, she half stood, looking towards the back of the car, sat back down and opened her blouse so that her entire chest and torso were exposed.
Then she smiled, her eyes flaring and opened her legs wide.
I watched her eyes as she watched the guy stand up.
He walked past us, his face heavily pot marked, hair greasy, all of his exposed skin grimy and sweaty. Surprisingly, his clothes looked clean and pressed.
He shot Elle a look, something that said, “Join me if you dare,” as he entered the restroom that was located escort kadıöy on the front right side of the car.
She waited maybe fifteen seconds and then joined him.
No one attempted to use the facilities while they were in there, which lasted a good five or six minutes.
Then he came out, same scowl, same demeanor, never looked at me, just sat down and ignored everyone.
She didn’t come for another couple of minutes, but when she did, she looked exactly as she had when she went in.
He got off in the Bronx, never acknowledged her and neither of us said anything about the incident until later.
Grand Central was a zoo, as usual, but we managed to make our way outside and grab a cab. It was only 12:30 when we arrived at the hotel, the desk clerk a woman about Elle’s age, attractive and eager to acclimate us to the hotel and surrounding neighborhood.
As an incentive to book the hotel for the weekend, we received a complimentary bottle of wine with our room. Margaux showed Elle an extensive list of wines from the hotel bar, where she finally chose a Cabernet before we were shown to our room by a nice young Latino bellhop.
“Anything you need… you just deal it with me. I know how it all works in this city… so you count on Alejandro,” as I duked him a $20.
The hotel… room… street… employees… it was all perfect! Elle had me on my back in the bed before Alejandro had closed the door. After much kissing, hands and fingers wandering, I had her licking lots of stinky Latino cum off my fingers, before finally forcing her to her feet, so we could unpack our bags and hang everything up.
We then took a walk around the area, finding we were only four blocks from Little Italy and Chinatown.
Naturally, she wanted to see and do everything at once, but I finally calmed her down, walked her into a small bar and sat her down with a drink.
I then told her what I’d planned for that night, starting with an “Off Broadway” play, which had already won a Tony Award, then a late dinner in Little Italy, followed by desert a few blocks away.
We sat in the bar for over an hour, talking to a few of the local denizens and then with a nice gay couple, guys who’d lived in Manhattan their whole lives. They were impressed with my choice of hotel, my choice of theatrical entertainment and my choice for dinner that night. When I mentioned the two recommendations that our new friend on the train had made for dinner Saturday night, one of them used his phone, and his influence, to get us a 9:00 PM reservation. “You’ll love it! It’s the most romantic view in the city.” We had another round, this one on me, as thanks for their help. True to their calling… “Fashion Consultants,” and now confident enough to discuss whatever came to mind, they spent the additional time giving Elle all sorts of fashion and make-up tips, nothing critical, only items that would help preserve her youthful appearance. Neither could believe she was over forty!
Then they spent a few minutes congratulating her on her current wardrobe choices, followed by some personal observation. “Honey,” the older of the two declared, “with a body like yours… you should spend at least two hours a day walking around in public… naked!”
That led his partner to opine, “… and we know girls who would worship at your feet… and suck your toes, just so they could look up at you and fantasize… and don’t get me started on the men…!”
We thanked them for their help, their company and promised to shop for the recommended cosmetics on our way back to the hotel.
Back in our room, I called Margaux and asked that she have a cab pick us up at 7:00, giving us more than enough time to get ready and be at the box office, where I had, “Will Call,” tickets waiting.
That also gave us time to fool around, me spending “quality time” (over her objections) in her cum filled pussy, compliments of the Latino guy, which by this time was smelling like five day old, sitting in the sun, squid!
My objective was having her lick and suck all of it off my fingers and cock…
She relished every drop!
Then we took a shower and got ready.
For some reason, I was under the impression that folks still dressed up for a theatrical performance in NYC. So I dressed myself and Elle accordingly.
I was wrong.
We were totally overdressed…, at least in my case… but only in the fashion sense.
And we were also late.
We were standing in the lobby, Elle talking to Bridgette, the night front desk clerk, as I watched for our cab. I figured that Margaux must have called in the reservation, but I hadn’t even seen a cab drive by the front of the hotel for the fifteen minutes I’d been standing there.
Then Alejandro walked into the lobby.
The first thing he noticed was Elle.
She was wearing a raspberry, form fitting mini dress with a deeply cut triangle style top that tied behind her neck. Add to that her 6″ black high heels and maltepe escort you had a look that said, “Come Fuck My Brains Out!”
At least that seemed to be the way Alejandro was reading it.
Then he saw me staring out the window.
“Mr. Yay… why you looking for?”
“Waiting for a taxi,” I answered.
“You call cab… why you not let Alejandro get you car?”
“Margaux was supposed to reserve one for me this afternoon. Now we’re late and I have theater reservations for 8:00.”
“Oh Mr. Yay, no taxi come here at Friday night. No reason. Not for one fare. Where you go?
“Trivoli Theater… but I guess we’ll have to walk to Canal and get a cab there,” as I motioned Elle to join me…
“No Mr. Yay… no Canal. You wait right here and Alejandro take care you an Meezz Elle. You wait right here.”
I was pacing… but in less than ten minutes, a black Lincoln pulled up in front of the hotel. Another Latino got out of the car and walked into the lobby. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie and a black livery cap, this kid twice as big as Alejandro, and maybe five years older.
As if on cue, our boy suddenly appeared once again.
“Esteban, mi amigos necesitan un passeo recogen, Teatro de Ttivoli, rapido.”
“No problem,” Esteban replied, “are you ready?”
“Si,” Elle answered, trying, I was sure, to impress the young driver.
I turned to tip Alejandro for saving us, but he refused saying, “Esteban, eezz my cousin. You take care of Esteban and he wheel take good care of you.”
I stuffed the money in his shirt pocket anyway and hustled Elle out the door.
As Esteban was closing our door, Alejandro called out, “Hey cuz… y mira el camino, no el pecho!”
Esteban laughed, “Thanks man, but, como puedo no mirar?
Having somehow managed to take Spanish 101, SIX TIMES, in high school and college, finally passing it in Summer School… which miraculously fulfilled my foreign language requirement at the College, I understood enough to know that Alejandro told his cousin to get us to the theater fast! Then he told him to watch the road and not… something, I guessed that, “el pecho” meant “her chest or tits?” Esteban had answered, “How can I not look!
Boys were good.
He got us to the theater with time to spare, giving us his card and asking that I call and give him, at least, a half hour to return.
“No problem,” I replied, “I’ll text you when the play is almost over. Is that all right?”
“Perfect,” he replied, checking out Elle’s ass and then giving me one of those, “Puedo obtener algunos de que?” pursed lips looks and a shake of his head.
Under my breath I said, “Si, puede.”
Taking her arm, we turned and walked toward the entrance… and that was when I realized we were over dressed.
But with a youngish crowd, at least those that I could see, I didn’t think it was going to be a problem.
If only because of the “Theme” of the play.
We ended up in the forth row, right center stage. While we were over dressed, by the standards of this crowd, those seated around us seemed, if anything, to appreciate that we’d made an effort.
Essentially the play was about a moral crisis, wrapped in a social dilemma. Two fifteen year old girls crash a college fraternity party looking to get laid. They justify their actions by talking about how “mature” they were, as opposed to how immature the boys their age are.
Act one finds them scheming to get into the party and then once evading detection, finding, “… the right men,” to seduce them.
Dressed like “teeny boppers” they’d been admitted, if only for laughs.
But luckily for them, two socially awkward freshmen pledges spotted them and with no shot at the college co-eds, they hit on the two teens.
Act One ends with the four of them feeling no pain and on their way to the boys dorm room.
Act Two opens with them in the room and the shit hits the fan when the girls go to the bathroom, where they strip down to their sexy underwear and swear an oath to lose their virginity that night. While they are out of the room, the boys accidentally discover their real age.
Realizing the danger they are in, the boys tell each other they need to get the girls out of there as fast as possible.
But hey hadn’t counted on the girls walking back into the room half naked!
The boy hooked up with the less physically mature girl confronts her and they have a long discussion, with the boy eventually talking her out of, “… giving it up.”
The more physically mature girl never gives the other guy a chance to do anything, other than “… make love to me.”
The play ends with the first couple making a date for the following weekend and the other guy paying no attention whatsoever to the other girl, she now, “regretting” (?) her actions.
After finding out how it had gone for her friend, and the impending date, the more daring of the two delivered the best, and last line of the play, “Maybe I’ll come to another frat party next weekend… by myself.”
It was okay, if only because Elle liked it and thought it could have been her daughter Kim on stage… and, both actresses looked as if they could have been fifteen and they looked really cute in their “seductive” undergarments.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32